


Who Heals the Healer?

by TCRegan



Category: Dragon Age II
Genre: Comfort, F/M, Fluff, Kissing, M/M, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-11
Updated: 2014-03-11
Packaged: 2018-01-15 09:28:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,012
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1299973
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TCRegan/pseuds/TCRegan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for the kink meme prompt here: http://dragonage-kink.livejournal.com/11099.html?thread=43829851#t43829851</p><p>Varric loves a tragic hero, but even heroes need a break sometimes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Who Heals the Healer?

Corff made last call, and Isabela groaned.

"I suppose that's us," she said with a sigh as she removed herself from Hawke's lap to get another round.

It was a rare, lazy night at the Hanged Man where they played a leisurely game of diamondback and spoke of random things from their past. Varric had a way of easily prying stories from people, and he knew that a little bit of alcohol and the right questions would keep the tales flowing. But Aveline and Sebastian had left early, citing work and Chantry duties in the morning. Merrill was exhausted almost before she got started. Volunteering to help out in the alienage plus her obsession with the mirror left her with little energy. She begged off, apologizing profusely and promising to come early tomorrow.

Varric's eyes flicked from Fenris, who was sipping wine and looking at his last hand of cards, to Hawke, who'd leaned back to watch Isabela's ass as she swaggered to the bar, to Anders. Blondie was sitting in the corner, at their table but not really with them as he scribbled something down on a stack of papers. A smudge of ink stained his cheek, and Varric knew there would be more on his fingers. He'd looked up too, but not to watch Isabela, but Hawke. Varric's heart twisted a little for him. But nothing made a better tragic hero than unrequited love.

Not that they weren't all a little bit in love with Hawke. Even Fenris with his prickly nature had come to respect the man, despite his pro-mage stance. It was difficult not to feel some sort of affection for Hawke, who so thoroughly took care of his friends. But he was completely enamored with the pirate queen and in fact, seemed rather oblivious to their healer's tired puppy dog eyes. While the others might have inferred Anders' attraction to the fearless warrior, Varric was sure of it. Several nights previous, he'd coaxed the story from him, and Anders spilled about his crush.

Crush was an appropriate word for it, Varric thought, as Isabela came back with four tankards and slid back into Hawke's lap. Anders' eyes dropped back to the papers in front of him as he muttered a thank you when she placed one in front of him.

"None for me?" Hawke asked, as Isabela distributed the other two and took the last for herself. His hand, Varric noted, was slowly sliding up her thigh.

Isabela laughed. "You can share mine, sweet thing." She took a swig.

Hawke pulled her down for a deep, thorough kiss. Fenris grunted, sipping his own, and tossed his cards down. Varric watched Anders, who hadn't looked up, but his brow furrowed slightly, the perpetual frown tugging at his lips.

"I believe that's my hand," Fenris said, and slid the coin pile in front of Hawke right into his own purse.

Varric didn't think they even noticed. Hawke pulled away long enough to say good night, and stood, Isabela around his waist as he carried her out. Fenris's lip curled as he took another sip before he too stood. He said goodnight to Varric, barely sparing a glance at Anders before he left.

"Just me and you, Blondie," Varric said, leaning over to flick one of Anders' crumpled up pieces of paper.

Anders looked at it a moment before sighing. "The lighting here is better, at least until Corff kicks out the last of the drunks. I'll take advantage of the lamplight and then be on my way."

"Or," Varric said, "you could share the bottle of Tevinter wine I have stashed in my suite with me."

Anders looked over his papers a moment. "I really should-"

"Stop working so hard," Varric finished for him. "Revolutions aren't won by a single man alone, after all. Even Andraste stopped to sleep."

The argument seemed to work, because Anders relented and gathered his papers, tossing the ruined ones in the fire as he walked with Varric upstairs. Varric shut the door, throwing the latch and removed his coat, boots and gloves as he retrieved a few glasses. Anders settled his papers on the desk before looking around, somewhat lost, Varric thought.

"Take your coat off. Sit by the fire."

Anders did as he was told, removing his boots as well. He leaned against the footboard of the bed, fingers running over the bear-skin rug. Varric poured out two glasses of the red wine and sat next to him, handing him one.

"I really shouldn't stay long," Anders said, accepting it. He sipped slowly.

"You always say that. You deserve a night off."

Anders smiled slightly. "You're a good friend, Varric."

"If I was, I'd tell you how to get over Hawke."

The smile faded, and Anders shifted, bringing a knee up to rest his arm on it. "I'm just glad he's happy. He deserves that, especially after losing his mother."

"I suppose he does." Varric couldn't argue that, but it pained him to see Anders so upset. 

In his experience, Varric had seen a lot of selfish people come and go. It was the business. But Anders never seemed to take anything for himself. Maybe it was the spirit inside his head. Maybe it was something in Anders' past. Whatever it was, it brought out Varric's nurturing side. He just wanted to see his friend smile again. 

"Hey," Varric said, "I ever tell you about the tale of the farmboy who went to later topple an evil empire?"

Anders' smile returned. "I don't believe you told me that one, no."

"Care to hear it?" Varric asked, with a smirk.

Anders thought a moment, taking another sip of wine, then nodded. "Please."

Varric cleared his throat and began.

-

Anders listened, the cadence of Varric's voice rising and falling, and he felt himself relaxing as he listened to the epic story of a boy who was born to bad circumstances who rose above all odds and went on to become the hero of the land. He shook his head.

"What?" Varric asked. "You don't like happy endings?"

"It doesn't happen in real life, Varric. People struggle, they die, and sometimes the hero doesn't get the girl."

"Well in this case, the girl turned out to be the hero's sister, so best thing all around, I think," Varric quipped.

Anders rolled his eyes. "You know what I mean, Varric."

The wine bottle was empty now, Anders grateful that Justice for once let him get at least a little tipsy. Perhaps he recognized the need for rest, for relaxation. Whatever it was, the alcohol helped as Varric coaxed him to sit forward, and he sighed as thick dwarven fingers began working the muscles in his shoulders.

"Maker's breath, Blondie, you're like a coil of sailor's rope."

Anders muttered something about sleeping arrangements in his clinic.

"You could just stay here."

"Not all of us can afford a palatial suite," Anders joked.

"True, true," Varric said easily. He supposed that telling Anders to take Hawke up on the offer of a guest room was out of the question. Not to mention it would cast him back into the maudlin mood that Anders was slowly coming out of. "Get on your stomach," he said, tapping Anders on the shoulder. "It'll make this easier."

"You don't have to," Anders protested.

Varric tickled his sides, causing Anders to squirm and laugh, protesting.

"Okay! Okay, stop!" Anders breathed, batting his hands. He settled down on his stomach, hands folded, cheek resting on them. "I'll reciprocate."

"I'll take an IOU," Varric said, and easily straddled his hips.

For a while, neither spoke as Varric worked the kinks from his back and shoulders, listening as Anders let out a groan or a gasp, or hissed when there was particularly knotted muscle.

"You would think," Varric said, "that being a healer and all, you could fix this."

"Magic can't solve everything," Anders said, sounding a bit forlorn.

Varric pressed his thumbs along his spine and Anders moaned, a deep, rumbling noise.

"Keep it up," Varric said, "I'll put that in my next tale: 'And lo as the loveable dwarf removed the kinks, the healer purred like a kitten'."

Anders laughed. "It's instinctual. I can't stop – oh, Maker," he hissed. "There, please," he whispered.

Varric smirked, imagining a quite different scenario where he'd have Anders saying those same words. He kept his own arousal in check. This wasn't about him, after all. Anders spent their adventures taking care of the rest of the party. He worked too hard but wouldn't ever admit it. Varric had seen lesser men fall to stress before sickness or old age or an arrow to the chest took them.

"You should come by more often," Varric noted.

"I wouldn't want to impose on your hospitality."

Varric laughed. "You act as if my room isn't a thoroughfare for half of Kirkwall. Really, Blondie. What's a space like this if you can't fill it with a few dozen friends every now and again?"

Anders smiled, eyes closed now. "I suppose."

Varric took the hem of his tunic and wrested it upward. Anders lifted up, protesting lightly as Varric leaned forward to pull it from his arms, tossing it aside. He resumed the massage in earnest, thick fingers smoothing over the pale and slightly freckled skin. He frowned, tracing the scars on his back. Anders shivered.

"Templars," he said, feeling the pattern. "I can't imagine how it looks."

"Probably worse than you think," Varric said lightly.

"They're old," Anders sighed, lifting up onto his elbows, forehead pressed to his fists. "From Ferelden. Years ago when I tried escaping. But I don't want to talk about it."

"Of course." Varric slid from his hips and watched as Anders stretched cat-like, bowing his back, then rocking forward.

"I should actually go," Anders sighed.

Varric reached out as Anders moved to his knees, taking his hand and pulling him close. Anders went easily, settling down once again, slumping until he was leaning against Varric's shoulder. Varric wrapped an arm around his shoulders, lightly drawing his fingertips over the bare skin. Anders hesitated, but his hand came to rest on Varric's stomach.

"You have such convictions," Varric joked, kissing the top of Anders' head.

"You made a convincing argument."

"Funny, I don't think I said anything."

"Varric," Anders said, looking up.

Varric knew that if he looked down into those earnest amber eyes, he wouldn't be able to help himself. His own feelings for Anders were complicated, swinging from just wanting to know what he'd be like in bed - _sparklefingers_ and all – to simply holding him like now.

"Yeah, Blondie?"

And when Anders didn't answer him, Varric sighed, looking down. Anders leaned up and kissed him, as Varric had anticipated. He returned it too, enjoying the slide of lips that were softer than they looked, a curious, probing tongue against his, smiling as Anders let out another quiet moan before he pulled back.

"Sorry," Anders whispered, looking away.

"Don't be," Varric assured him, holding him a bit tighter. "You know it's okay."

"It's not," Anders said tiredly. "Nothing's working out the way I thought it would be."

"That's what makes the best stories," Varric said, shifting, sitting up a bit straighter and easing Anders into his lap. He slowly rubbed his shoulder and back, careful to ghost his side lest he tickle him and ruin the mood. "The best laid plans go to hell and in the end, the hero prevails."

"Are you talking about me or Hawke?"

Varric smiled. "Hawke's got his own story. But sometimes people get a little tired of the epic hero who's larger than life. They want to root for the underdog."

Anders let out a tired laugh. "If you say so, Varric," he finished with a yawn.

Varric watched him fall asleep, his breathing slow and even. He twitched slightly, and Varric brushed his hair back, looking down at him fondly. "Sleep well, Blondie," he whispered, settling back against the footboard. "Your tale will be the most epic of them all."

**Author's Note:**

> I should be writing more to the sequel of "No Exchanges or Refunds" or you know, any of the other million things I want to write. But come on. Varric/Anders fluff. I can't resist that.


End file.
